Rocket Science
by tamiiland
Summary: The Wreckers insist upon teaching Epps about spaceships. Epps insists upon not giving a damn.


Read'n'Review—it feed the muse!

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><p><strong>Rocket Science<strong>

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><p>"Come on, Epps. This is simpler than the friggin' Sputnik."<p>

Epps sighed long-sufferingly, leaning against his chair as he rubbed his temple. "You're hurting my brain, man."

"Wrong," Leadfoot huffed, crossing his arms over his stubby red chassis. "I'm _awakening_ it."

"Don't bother. Let it sleep. I mean it."

"No. You'll learn this damn equation even if I hafta shove the book up your ass." He tapped the volume in front of Epps with a patronizing fingertip.

The human squirmed, unsure if the bot was joking or serious. It wouldn't be a surprise if the Wreckers hadn't taken the time to do some research and thus learn that humans weren't meant to have books stuffed in there. Sometimes, figurative expressions were taken all too seriously by the aliens. Epps looked nervously at Roadbuster.

The vibrantly green mech shrugged. "It _is_ a simple equation, Bobby."

"Bullshit."

Epps felt like Roadbuster was raising an optic ridge at him under the blue-orange visors. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mute it," Leadfoot grunted. "Tryin'ta teach this human something. Now, Epps…" He loomed over, pointedly pushing the book forwards. "The maximum change of speed of a rocket is equal to the effective exhaust velocity multiplied by the natural logarithm of the algebraic fraction that consists of the initial total mass divided by the final total mass. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"No."

Leadfoot growled, "This is gettin' tiresome."

"Then, by all means, desist," Epps deadpanned, making Roadbuster cough a chuckle.

Topspin regarded them all unenthusiastically. "Idiots."

"Say that again and this wrench will dent your head!" Leadfoot threatened, shaking the impressive tool in the blue warrior's direction.

Topspin snorted, adjusting with his pincer-claws the many antennae of what looked like an iron hedgehog. "It's obvious the human's an idiot, so you're an idiot for tryin' to teach him a thing." He smirked. "Just statin' the obvious, here."

"Mute it or I'll scramble your—"

Roadbuster revved his engine. "Stoppit, ye two."

"Yeah, guys, seriously. I can see why you never get permission to leave the base," Epps groaned.

"He started it!" Leadfoot grunted, pointing at Topspin.

"No," the blue warrior countered. "You did, when you decided t'was a good idea to teach the human the Tsiolkovsky rocket equation."

"Stuff it now," Roadbuster rumbled, and the two bots complied after glaring at each other.

Epps had retired from NEST two months ago, and started working with the Wreckers only a week after he had decided to throw his military career out the window and open an arcade. What had made him take a job that was an ultra-distant cry from what he wanted, Epps would never know. The only thing he was sure of at this point was that he was all in for dumping the Abominable Trio as soon as the opportunity came. Outstanding warriors or not, their specialisation seemed to be in causing migraines.

"How come he's workin' with us if he doesn't even know somethin' as basic as _that_, anyway?" Topspin asked.

"Bobby's our personal ambassador."

"Yeah, not like that boy," Leadfoot said, wrinkling his olfactory sensor. "Y'know, the wimp."

Topspin sniggered. "Oh, yeah. Bumblebee saves his ass alla time."

"Hey," Epps frowned. "That 'wimp' was the one who killed Megatron _and_ revived Optimus. Be a bit more respectful towards Sam."

"Well, I could kill Megatron too, with Optimus havin' already depleted his energy banks and the AllSpark in m'hands to jam into his chest. I mean, c'mon…" Topspin stopped the tweaking in favour of shrugging mockingly. "No big deal there."

"And the Matrix kinda lent him a hand with the whole resurrection deal, didn't it," Leadfoot snorted. "Humans worship too much. The wimp's a wimp, and will pro'bly always be. Period."

"Yeah," the blue mech agreed. "That doesn't mean we don't like the wimp, though. He's nice. Lotsa fun to tease him!"

"He gets crabby almost instantly," Roadbuster chuckled.

"But ain't our personal human here s'posed to be useful?" Topspin asked. "Like an engineer or a techie?"

The three of them looked at Epps, who grimaced. "I am."

"Seriously? If all engineers are like ya, then mankind's shittier than I thought," Leadfoot blurted, leaning closer as if to inspect just how mediocre the black soldier actually was. "No offense meant."

Epps narrowed his eyes resentfully. "None taken."

He was about to make up an excuse so he could leave when Leadfoot's fingertip pushed the book until it fell off the table and into his lap. With a sigh, Epps picked it up and started reading aloud like he had been instructed to do the first time the red bot handed the volume to him. It had been weird being told to read a book by alien robots; you would expect them to give you an iTouch or some technology of the sorts when they wanted you to learn written knowledge, but apparently, scanning information was as easy as downloading it for them. Books and newspapers were as valued as digital texts in PDF format.

"Stop there," Leadfoot commanded.

Epps blinked up at him. "Okay… so?"

Leadfoot grumbled, "Weren't you processin' the information you were readin'?"

"Not really, no," he flipped the book's pages without truly paying attention. "The info kinda beats me."

"How?" Topspin asked as Leadfoot moaned, "Why?"

"Well, here's an example:" Epps cleared his throat. "'Solid propellants are either 'composites' with separate fuel and oxidizer or 'double bases' which contain both fuel and oxidizer in the same molecule. In the case of gunpowder (a composite) the fuel is charcoal, the oxidizer is potassium nitrate, and sulphur serves as a catalyst.'" He looked up. "I don't even _know_ what a catalyst is."

"An agent or substance capable of accelerating or decelerating a reaction," Leadfoot provided.

"I know."

The red mech frowned. "You said you didn't."

"I was being sarc—aw, for the love of…" Epps sighed, closed the book and threw it onto the table. "Gimme a break."

"Sounds fair," Roadbuster admitted, throwing a warning look at Leadfoot, who muted whatever complains he was about to voice out.

"Thanks, pal."

Epps stretched his arms above his head, hearing his back crack pleasantly. He sighed and took out his phone, checking for missed phone calls and deciding to send an annoyingly pointless message to Lennox, if only to distract him from what probably was a training session. Epps did not miss those.

"So… you're an engineer?" Topspin asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Nah, man. I'm a level three techie."

"Out of how many levels?"

"Uh, ten? It was just an expression."

Topspin rumbled. "So you're a newbie."

"Kinda." He slumped on his chair, asking Lennox how the weather was back in Diego García. "I mean—knowledge-wise, I'm not as cool as Glen or Maggie, but I've been a techie since puberty and know my way around the block."

"So you like technology," Leadfoot deduced.

"Yup."

"Then why the heck ain't ya interested in knowin' how to build your own spacecraft?" the red bot questioned exasperatedly.

Epps groaned, running a hand down his face. "'Cause I simply don't. This stuff's too complicated for me, big guy. I'm happy with plain good ol' tech. It's nice and interesting and thrilling."

"Well, I'm sorry to disagree, but fixin' airplane transceivers, or attemptin' to, isn't as thrillin' as constructin' a rocket."

Epps blushed lightly at the mention of his most recent failure, but crossed his arms stubbornly. He wasn't their spokesman for nothing; he was one of the very few humans who weren't intimidated by them, and he was going to stand up to that reputation.

"I ain't learnin' and that's the end of it."

"What? Scared of blowing up your house?" Topspin teased, and his two alien comrades burst with laughter.

"Yeah, it's not like you're Que, anyway," Leadfoot roared.

"Bet it wouldn't be as easy to put you back together," squawked Topspin between amused howls. Roadbuster simply shook his head, chuckling as he tried to recompose himself.

"Ha-ha. You guys are hilarious. I hope you rust."

"Don't worry, Epps. We will," Leadfoot said, resuming his crouch in front of him.

Topspin huffed a laugh. "You'll be long dead when that happens, though."

"Ain't you a sweetheart."

"Don't worry, Epps," Leadfoot said, slowly twisting his lips into an evil smirk. He pointed at the book on the Sergeant's lap. "I'll make you learn this before either you or I are dead. Open up at page three hundred and forty-five."

"Are you trying to bully me into quitting? 'Cause it ain't working."

"Nah, Epps. We're annoying you into likin' us," Leadfoot smirked.

"Yeah. You're the only nice human 'round," Topspin added.

Roadbuster crossed his arms and stood straight. "You're staying. For good."

Epps fidgeted, switching between feeling flattered and edgy at the possessiveness the Wreckers suddenly showed towards him. The pay was good and the job was nice (fixing up an alien spacecraft was beyond cool, he had to confess), but the way the green mech had made his statement made Epps feel as if the three warriors expected him to work alongside them until he became old and wrinkly.

"'For good' sounds a bit long for my comfort, yanno," Epps finally said.

Roadbuster let out a small revving noise that sounded oddly amused, but it was Topspin who spoke. "We know human limitations. We mean you ain't getting sent outta NASA unless we say so."

"You can't decide that," Epps mumbled, but it came out as a question rather than a statement.

Leadfoot snickered. "Oh, we can. Unofficially."

The black soldier's eyes widened. "Hacking?"

"Pshaw," Topspin sniggered, putting down the metal hedgehog and rotating his shoulders.

"Our charmin' ways are more than'nuff," the red mech declared.

"That prick with the glasses never came back after the first round," Topspin said wistfully.

"Prick with the… You mean Galloway?"

Leadfoot spit before answering, "Eh, I dunno his name."

"Neither do I. Erased the info," Topspin said. "But he's the official ambassador. He's not the wimp."

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Not the wimp," Leadfoot agreed, shaking his head. "This one was older. And wimpier."

"Definitely Galloway," Epps said. "Huh. You guys are dangerous."

Topspin grinned. "T'was harmless fun!"

"Yeah, fun," Leadfoot conceded. "Like Newton's second law. Why you humans think he invented it is lost to me, but… whatever."

"Pal, I seriously _ain't_ gonna learn this," Epps deadpanned, putting his arms in front of him in the shape of an 'x' and separating them brusquely. "Not. Gonna. Freakin'. Happen. Give up already."

"I refuse. Your biological brain should at least be able to grasp the simple, simple, stupidly simple concept of universal gravitation. I'm not even teachin' you the proper conception; I'm teachin' you the _human_ conception, and the human version of the law states that every point mass in the universe…"

"Shoot me now," Epps mumbled to Roadbuster under his breath.

"No can do, Bobby."

"You! Mute it and listen. You might learn some human science, for a change."

The green leader groaned, having accidentally earned himself a seat in Leadfoot's lesson. Topspin started laughing, but was quickly silenced by a wrench to the head. Unconscious, the blue mech plummeted to the ground, and Roadbuster huffed indignantly.

"Leadfoot!" He smacked him with unforgiving force. "Ya don't hit yer comrades without prior warnin'."

He grunted in pain and rubbed the back of his neck. "I did warn him—about fifteen minutes ago. It's not my fault that he forgot. I do keep my promises." He looked down at the Sergeant. "Which means ya _will_ learn how to build your own friggin' rocket."

Epps couldn't moan in agony loud enough.


End file.
